Paint The Sky With Stars
by BinaryTales
Summary: A lover lost in Amestris. A lover killed in Germany. A lover born of blood. And a lover that destroys all taboos. On Earth, Tricia will sacrifice EVERYTHING for the healing of Edward Elric. AU,Elricest,yaoi,het.
1. Chapter 1

Truth of it is—the only constant is Love. And Love doesn't give a rat's ass _who_ we are each time…only that we meet and kindle that warmth again…

Fic: "Paint The Sky With Stars" Pt 1

By binaryalchemist

Rating: PG 13 to R

Genre: Yaoi (Earthside Roy/Ed, past Ed/Hei) and Elricest (Ed/Earthside Tricia, hints of Ed/Al) and Het (Al/Earthside Winry) –this is an AU of my Post Hagaren/ CoS AU

Spoilers: CoS spoilers galore

(From the Alchemical Journals of Tricia E. Elric)

"…I can only imagine that before we are born we're like actors in a touring company that plays in this world and the Alchemical world…A pile of costumes and scripts—who shall we play in this performance? What mask will I wear tonight—and will you still recognize me when the play begins?"

A/N: There are some stories that hound you until you finally get them down on paper, even if you're not altogether comfortable with what they imply. This story has been in the back of my mind for over a year—controversial as it is, I decided to go ahead and tell the tale so it will leave me in peace..

Paint The Sky with Stars

By the Binary Alchemist 2010

"_My life often seemed to me like a story that has no beginning and no end. I had the feeling that I was an historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding and succeeding text was missing. I could well imagine that I might have lived in former centuries and there encountered questions I was not yet able to answer; that I had been born again because I had not fulfilled the task given to me." _

_Carl Jung_

"Ignore all the religious bullcrap, kiddo. Bottom line—life only flows in one direction, but sometimes I think you get to look at it from different sides of the stream."

--Edward Elric

I've tried so many times to write this story down. You have _no_ idea.

Each time I attempt to get this down on paper I catch myself launching off into wild directions instead of getting to the heart of it. It's not that I'm being evasive—no, don't look at me like that. I'm a shitty liar, so it's not that. It's just…some things are so raw and intimate, so close to the heart, that I _can't_ talk about it, understand?

But…since this is for my own archives and not for anybody's eyes while I'm alive…all right.

And to my beloved father Alphonse—if you read this after my death, I have one word for you:

_Forgive._

A lot of philosophers have written earnest conjectures about Life After Death.

Elrics have _proof_. We've seen the Gateway. My grandfather Hohenheim, my father Alphonse and my Uncle Edward were born in a world that parallels my world. Y'know, the world of McDonald's cheeseburgers, reality shows, iPods and the atomic bomb?

Except that we wouldn't have had that last item if it weren't for my uncle and brother…

Yeah. The arms race? Our fault. Daddy and Uncle Edward got into a fight with this crazy physicist named Huskisson who figured out how to make a weapon with uranium back before the 1920's . He figured they'd take it to the army and he'd make a fortune. Daddy said no. Uncle Edward said _hell_ no. In that world, alchemy actually works—and that's how Huskisson's weapon ended up in our world. Daddy and Edo pissed him off, the crazy bastard tried to transmute a pile of dead bodies into an unkillable army while he was holding onto the bomb…he got consumed and the bomb crossed between the worlds to the world where I was born.

Long story short: alchemy carried Hohenheim and Edward Elric from the Alchemic world to the world of Physics and Science—a place we call Earth. Daddy tried to open that Gateway to bring my uncle home, just as some Nazi assholes used Hohenheim's knowledge to open the Gate themselves in hopes of getting their hands on more weapons like Huskisson's bomb. There was a horrible battle and terrible earthquakes in the Alchemic world. Because of my dad, countless people lost their lives. In the end, Daddy chose to join my uncle on Earth, to help seal the Gate in Munich and the smaller gates Hohenheim had created. The Gateways in Amestris were to be closed by a certain alchemist named Mustang—who coincidentally had once been my uncle's lover.

It didn't work as planned. Those damned Gates were unstable. And Hohenheim's smaller Gateway Stones—a sort of portal that works if someone from the other side uses alchemy on them—were still capable of letting some horror from Amestris pass through.

My uncle bitterly called it Job Security. We'll be watching those damned Gateways for the rest of our lives. Unnaturally long lives, because alchemy changed the DNA of my grandfather. Like him, we age only so far…and then we stop.

And those Gates? Turns out there's a shitload of them, thanks to Hohenheim, so watching them really _is_ a fulltime job.

We've got monitors and surveillance. We've got a very—VERY—select handful of people who help us keep an eye on things. But if all hell breaks loose, it's going to take someone with a damn good knowledge of alchemy to plug the leak—or fight whatever the fuck comes through.

The world wouldn't be at risk if it weren't for the Elrics, so it's up to the Elrics to be the watchdogs…

Now, once Daddy crossed to Earth and the war was over, he had every intention of traveling around Earth by my uncle's side for the rest of his life, monitoring the Gates and working with the fledgling space program that my uncle had been a vital part of back in Germany before the war.

He only made it as far as Los Angeles when he got conked in the head by Love.

In Amestris there had been this girl mechanic named Winry. Daddy loved her. She loved Edward. And Edward loved the Flame Alchemist. Even with Edward gone, Winry never stopped mooning over him. Well, as Ed found out quickly, the faces we see in one world we will likely see on the other. The Winry of my world was a motorcycle mechanic who began working in her dad's shop when he went off to war and turned out to have more talent than the old man ever suspected.

Daddy and Edward tooled around the States in a beat up old motorcycle and sidecar. It broke down in LA and Daddy went through hell trying to find a mechanic who could fix this piece of ex-German army surplus _scheisse. _

According to my mom, she took one look at my tall, good looking father and decided she was gonna knock him down, drag him off, fuck him senseless and never let him go. Daddy claims he never knew what hit him. Mom claimed it was a 3/16ths Snap-On. She made a hell of an impression on Dad, although he keeps his hair long enough that you really can't see the scar anymore.

Uncle Edward was mildly pissed that another Winry was butting into things on this side, but it was obvious that Daddy was well fed, well fucked and content in his new life, having settled down in on the west coast and working for NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Now on his own, Edward earned a shitload of doctorate degrees and became an author and scientist of renown—and more than that, a respected philanthropist, humanitarian and an outspoken opponent of the burgeoning nuclear arms race. As he bragged to me later, "I've had the pleasure of being thrown in jail and tear-gassed with some of the greatest minds of the 20th century." He was friends with Gandhi, marched side by side with Dr. King, and is probably the one who coined the phrase, "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention."

Mom and Dad wanted a dozen children. They had to settle for two. Seven months after their wedding my brother Alfons Heiderich Elric came around, and less than two years later my sister Winry-Sara joined him.

Ten years later, Mom and Dad went to Hawaii and came back with a souvenir that wasn't stowed in their luggage. Dad had wanted to name his firstborn after his only brother, but Edward asked him to name the kid after the young German rocket scientist that sacrificed his life to bring the brothers together. This time, Dad insisted, the kid was either going to be Edward or Edwina. But when I was born with brown hair, he changed my name to Trisha Edwina Elric. Mom didn't quite understand why, other than Daddy was holding me and sobbing and saying over and over, "she's back, Brother—she found us. _She found us_!"

I don't think I have to explain who he meant by _she_, do I ?

Let me tell you what _I_ think about all this.

I can only imagine that before we are born we're like actors in a touring company that plays in this world and the Alchemical world…A pile of costumes and scripts—who shall we play in this performance? Will you be an enemy or rival that forces me to grow and evolve? Will I be your lover? Your brother? Your wife? What mask will I wear tonight—and will you still recognize me when the play begins? In other words—the costumes and the masks and the scripts change; underneath, the same actors are eager to meet and play together again.

And no—I'm not offering that as any kind of excuse or apology for what happened—for what Edward and Roy and Jean and I will hopefully take to our graves.

I am _not_ sorry. I'll be good and goddamned if I'll repent _anything_. If a bond of Love exists, it will draw souls together. And Love doesn't give a rat's ass _who_ we are each time…only that we meet and kindle that warmth again…

To Be Continued….


	2. Chapter 2

Paint The Sky With Stars, pt 2

By The Binary Alchemist, 2010

My Dad and my Uncle Edward never knew how lucky they were. Being significantly younger than your siblings is a pain in the ass.

It was May of 1962. I was five. They were fifteen and sixteen, respectively. To my brother I was Pest or Munchkin, somebody to tickle and tease and occasionally treat to an ice cream cone or sundae. My all-too-beautiful sister regarded me with the same embarrassment she'd feel if she found a big red zit on her forehead the night of the prom.

So, of course, I made their lives a living hell at every given opportunity…

I snooped. I tattled. I yelled and sulked and busted in on them making out with their dates on the sofa. I dumped Win-Sara's eye shadow on the floor and stepped on it. I spilled Kool-aid all over the interior of my brother's painstakingly restored Chevy. I was an anal excruciation and it's a miracle they both didn't kill me before puberty.

It pissed Mom off and she tanned my butt for it. Dad was more understanding. He hadn't forgotten that once upon a time he had a jealous elder brother who pinched him, punched him, smacked him upside the head with storybooks and was basically ornery as dried dogshit on a pair of good shoes. "She's just acting out," he told my siblings. "She'll grow out of it. Be patient."

Instead, I grew somehow _darker_. Sadder. You see, other kids my age weren't comfortable with me. I was raised in a family where intelligence was a thing to be praised and encouraged. Nobody told me I wasn't supposed to use bigger words or read books for older kids or prefer museums to playgrounds. First day in kindergarten, Kimmy Donaldson called me a smarty-pants and pushed me down in a mud puddle. Then I had to take a bunch of tests and they pulled me out of one school and stuck me in the first grade somewhere else. I was younger, I was smarter and everybody treated me like I had cooties, everywhere I went.

Nowadays, it occurs to me, that somebody would have hauled me off to a doctor and stuffed me full of pharmaceuticals and then dragged me to some therapist who would try to get me to implicate one of my parents for beating the shit out of me or something. Not in _my_ family. My mom may have spanked me, but I have never, ever, doubted her love for me. And any jackass from the school board who might have suggested that I needed chemicals would have had his head handed to him on a platter by Alphonse Elric. When I wouldn't talk about things, Dad found a way to intervene—with the one person he figured I would trust instinctively.

He found me hiding under the boxwood hedge. I had burrowed under there in the shadows to cry myself out after a bad day at school. He was so little—not much taller than me, it seemed. I had only an inkling about elves and fey folk in those days, but he seemed enchanted to me. His eyes were the same shade of gold as my cat Shadow, and the light played off his ponytail that was prettier than the hair on Kimmy Donaldson's Barbie. His features were lean and sharp and there was something in the quirk of his mouth that told me it made him sad to see me crouched down there like that, all grubby with tears on my chin and snot on my nose and hiccupping from sobbing too hard for too long.

"Hey," he said softly. "Whatcha doing in there, Teddy?"

"N-nobody will _play_ with me," I gulped, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Nobody _likes_ me."

"_I_ like you," he said softly and with an odd, gentle smile he opened his arms wide, coaxing me out into the sunlight.

I crawled out under the hedge and a gloved hand lightly ruffled my hair. "Other kids can be such jerks. I'm sorry, Kiddo." He wiped my nose and eyes. "You wanna play with me?"

And I wound my skinny little arms around his neck and hung onto him for dear life. Laughing, he swung me up on his shoulders and confided that he'd found a bunch of tadpoles in the tiny stream that ran thru the gully near our yard, "Some of 'em already have legs—you wanna go see?"

We spent a glorious, muddy afternoon chasing frogs, watching dragonflies, and when he carried me home my pockets bulged with pretty rocks to give to my dad for his collection. We scrubbed our hands and faces together at the sink and Mom didn't say a word that I was absolutely filthy. I was giggling, I was saying 'please' and 'thank you' and didn't once explode into tears when she asked me to finish my peas.

Mom gave me a bath downstairs so my playmate could clean up in the hall bathroom upstairs. "So you and Uncle Edward had fun, huh?" she asked/

"He's not Uncle Edward—he's my Edo," I corrected.

"Edo?"

"Yah! He calls me Kiddo—so he's my Edo."

She shook her head and laughed. 'He's also your Godfather. Do you know what that means?"

"Nuh-huh."

"It means that as long as you live, he's going to be there for you and loves you almost as much as me and your dad. So," her face looked serious, "if there's anything you think you can't tell me or tell your dad, you can always tell your Edo, okay?"

After my bath I padded out in my flannel nightie, red hooded robe and my Yogi Bear slippers to find my Edo in Daddy's favorite armchair. He was all clean and his hair was neatly braided. He gestured for me to climb up on his lap and he pulled out a story book. "Your dad says you're a really good reader, Teddy. Why don't you tell me a story?"

There's a picture that my mother took that night that Dad keeps in his office. I am wrapped in an afghan and snuggled in my uncle's arms, a small cushion protecting my head from his metal shoulder. His glasses have slipped halfway down his nose and his cheek rests against my forehead. A copy of "The Cat In The Hat Comes Back" rests open on his chest, and I have a death grip on his braid which is wrapped around my tiny fist, my thumb jammed firmly in my mouth as I sleep.

What I didn't hear—and wouldn't have understood—were the words that passed between my father and my uncle before I was carried off to bed…

_"Any more doubts, Brother?"_

_ "No…I didn't want to believe it, Al. Not after all we went through. I couldn't stand the thought—"_

_ "But we're not going to lose her this time, Ed."_

_ "Al…you don't know what I saw in Munich. That damn Gate is so unstable. Sometimes it lights up and flashes and I swear you could stick your hand right through it. Short of moving there permanently, I don't know what the hell else I can do—and we still have to watch those other Gatestones. Too many Gates—and not enough Elrics to go around to do the watching." A pause. "Did you talk to Alfons and Win-Sara?"_

_ A heavy sigh. "I've tried. I have, Ed! I just…can't get them to believe it."_

_ 'Even after seeing my arm?"_

_ "Even then. Maybe if they'd been told when they were younger…"_

_ "Maybe…you should start telling Teddy now. Y'know…just in case?"_

_ "Ed, she's so little. I think if she saw your arm it would scare her, and I don't want her to be afraid of you, not now."_

_ Another long pause. "I'll find a way, Al. She's smart as a whip…"_

_**December 27, 1967**_

_Dear Edo—_

_We really missed you at Christmas this year—don't know why Dad wanted us to take this trip out to the stinking Nevada desert. Sand and Christmas aren't good together, are they? Daddy says we'll make up for it and go camping this summer, just you and Daddy and me. Daddy says that there are some special things I need to learn and that when you and Daddy were my age you had a teacher that sent you camp out some place called Yock Island and you had fun and learned a lot. Is that where we're going?_

_I got all excited when I opened the crate of stuff you sent me. You always pick neat things out for me. All the books are great—I saw that note in "Alice Through The Looking Glass" you wrote in the front—asking me what kind of wonders were on the other side of MY OWN looking glass world. Daddy said you were serious and expected me to write you back a good answer. _

_Do I THINK there are looking glass worlds? HUMMMMMM. Let me see. Maybe not like Alice had, with talking chess pieces and every thing stopping so somebody can say some poetry or something. I asked Daddy if anybody ever proved there AREN'T any other worlds and he said no. So I SAY that there MIGHT BE other worlds. You always say keep an open mind, Kiddo. So I will. I just would want my looking glass world to have my Mom and Daddy, and Alfons and Win. And it MUST have an EDWARD ELRIC or it is no fun at all!! And I would like the Beatles to be there too! _

_When you go to bed in London please look at the moon before you close the curtains. I will be looking at that same moon too and thinking hugs at you. (And if you see a Beatle, get me an autograph, okay??)_

_I LOVE YOU XXXOOOXXXX!!_

Teddy

It must have been around 1970 when I found the picture from Germany. That changed _everything_.

I don't want to tell this part. It's embarrassing. But the only way anybody else will see this part is if I'm dead—or if somebody gets hold of this private alchemic journal. That is—other than those who already know. _Envy_ found out. Envy used it to hurt me—to hurt my father, my husband. Mostly he did it to hurt Edward. Envy threw it my face that horrible day last year when we investigated the Gatestone my grandfather left on the Carribean island of Ranamurte…

"_I could see everything from the Gate, you know. Everything. I saw your brother jerking off with a Playboy he swiped from under your dad's bed. And your sister used to sixty-nine her boyfriends so she'd be a virgin on her wedding night—and Al, that wasn't strep throat she had in her senior year—it was the clap. But Trisha—you were such a dirty little girl. You see, Alphonse, your baby was a hot little slut like her mom, always looking at the boys. And one day when she was almost in junior high she found a bunch of old pictures in the attic. One of them was of a beautiful young man with flowing golden hair hanging all over his shoulders. It was taken in Switzerland—back when you were fucking that boy who looked like your brother. Trisha thought the boy in the picture was some cousin of yours, because she couldn't see the fake arm—and she got allllll flushed and excited. She stole the picture and took it to her room and looked at it for days…and then one night she swiped a flashlight, locked her bedroom door— and climbed under the covers…and she put her hand inside her pretty little flowered panties and found that the pretty blonde boy had made her all wet for the first time and that if she put her finger in while she looked at his picture it made it feel soooooo goooood. So how about that, Pipsqueak? You made your father's former whore come for the first time ever in this life."_

Well…it was the truth. It was taken in 1922, when Edo and Alfons Heiderich went on summer holiday in Switzerland with some friends from the _Verein für Raumschiffahrt—_the Spaceflight Society, a bunch of bright and hopeful young men who were studying rocketry with Hermann Oberth. They were horsing around, grinning and posing comically on the hood of an old Heinrod Standard. And understand—this was 1970—_forty odd years_ after the picture was taken. How in the hell was I to know that the beautiful blond boy in the old black and white photo was the same man I idolized as my uncle and godfather? The boy in the picture…I fell in love with him. I made up a name—no, I won't tell you what it was. I had such beautiful fantasies—of waltzing in Vienna with him, walking hand in hand through the Black Forest…and yes, eventually, I dreamed of…_touching._ And being _touched_. And nothing I ever learned in 'those talks' with Mom or our Gym teacher warned me anything about that wild rush of sensation. I had to bite hard on my pillow to keep from crying aloud, and as soon as I did a little surreptitious reading on the subject I was at it all the time.

Mom was pretty open about sex—probably because she's been pretty damned wild before meeting my Dad (and they were pretty damned wild together—right up until she died twelve years ago). "If you're gonna, you're gonna, so don't get in trouble. Use your head—and use a rubber!" I fooled around with a lot of boys…but nothing came close to what I could share with that imaginary lover from Germany. I kept imagining that cornsilk hair blowing across my skin, wondering how good he smelled….and whatever happened to him. Was he still alive? Did he marry? Was he—and I shuddered unpleasantly at the thought—a wrinkled old man with no teeth now? No—he was forever young, forever _mine…_and that picture stayed hidden in the drawer beside my bed for years, along with that 'facial massager' I ordered from a Lillian Vernon catalog.

I was fifteen when Mom and Dad decided it was time to let me see The Evidence. I mean, I'd always known Edo had a prosthetic arm and leg made of metal—what I didn't know what the difference in technology.

He was wearing only a pair of gym shorts and a tank top, his hair undone and spilling over his bare shoulders. "Come here, Teddy," Mom gestured. "You need to see this. It's really amazing how it was made."

"Please don't be afraid," Edo told me quietly. He rolled down the fake rubber sleeve that mimicked human skin, cold grey metal gleaming underneath. "I need to know you can accept this. This wasn't made in this world, Teddy. It was made in Amestris. My home. _Your_ ancestral home. This is where our family comes from."

"It's true, Mischief," Daddy nodded. "All those stories about our adventures together—about the Philosopher's Stone. It was all true."

"I…I know…" I couldn't stop staring at Edo's arm.

Mom and Dad left us alone. We didn't speak for a very long time. At last, my hand reached out and traced the thick plate of steel that disappeared under his shirt.

"It's my port cover. I'll show you." The shirt was tossed aside. Solid steel and steel mesh. _Gears._ The smell of oil I'd recognized for years. And…_flesh_. Soft, soft hair. Warm, glowing eyes. Warm skin under my fingertips.

And I _knew_. I understood why the photo had obsessed me. The truth of it was here, right in front of my eyes. _"When were you born?"_

He didn't flinch. "February 3rd, 1899. In the village of Resembool in East Amestris. Your dad was born eleven months later in the spring of 1900." His hand covered mine. " Time runs a little differently on this side of the Gate. I'm seventy three years old, Teddy. _Look at me."_

I couldn't take my _eyes_ off him.

…TO BE CONTINUED…..


	3. Chapter 3

Paint The Sky With Stars, Pt 3

By The Binary Alchemist 2010

_"You know what, Al? You should have married that faggot brother of yours—he's the only one that matters to you in the end!"_

For the first, last, and only time in my life, I called my mom a bitch.

For the first, last and only time in _her_ life, she backhanded me across the face.

At that moment, I hated my mother with every fiber in my being.

Now—please understand—that's teenage angst. I didn't mean it. But when she just…let fly on my father, I swear I wanted to _kill _her.

Mom shot out the door, cranked up her Harley and roared out of the driveway like her ass was on fire. Me? I was trying to focus my eyes and get the bells in my head to stop ringing. I've never seen my dad look so hurt in his life.'

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, laying a gentle hand on my cheek. "Let me get you some ice, sweetheart." I huddled up on the couch in a knot of misery and anger, and when he knelt before me with that sweet, sad look on his face, a bag of frozen peas in his hand as a makeshift compress, I lost it completely. I _bawled_. I flung my arms around his neck and clung to him, wailing that I hated Mom—how _dare_ she talk to him that way.

"Teddy…sweetness, it's all right…she didn't mean it. And she _never_ meant to hurt you. You mean everything to her."

I couldn't explain it—but that urge to protect him was so intense it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. How could anybody—_anybody_—hurt my sweet father so badly?

"I'm…I'm sorry you heard that. It's all right, little one. Your mom and I are fine. She just…it's hard for her to understand sometimes."

Why did I want to protect him from the world? He wasn't a weakling—shit, he taught martial arts in his spare time and I swear he could probably fling a piano across the room. A gentle giant, with a heart so deep and so tender—and yet so very, very wise and not at all naïve. He was my inspiration. Worship isn't too much of an exaggeration. Dad was—Dad _is_—my hero. Insult my dad within earshot and I'll beat the living shit out of you.

"Your mother was an only child, Teddy," he began. "She's wonderfully independent. But…it's different with me and Edward. Almost like…well…in Amestris, when we were searching for the Stone, all he ever thought about was restoring my body. And all I ever thought about was making him whole and…and stop blaming himself.

Until your mom came along, Ed and I lived for each other. It was all we had. Even now…I'm really all he has. There's nobody else. Not since--" His voice trailed off and he scooted up beside me and pulled me onto his lap, just as he had when I was little. "No one will ever, _ever_ take the place of you kids and your mom for me. And nothing will take Ed's place. Your mom…just needs a little patience and understanding. She's always been on her own, you know? I know she's so sorry for slapping you. And I know you didn't mean what you said. Just give her a hug when she comes home and it will be all over, okay?"

Well…not exactly. It took longer than that, but we healed the breach eventually. "I ought to know those two can do no wrong in your eyes, _Tricia_," she told me,shaking her head and walking away.

And _that_ cryptic remark left me baffled for a long time.

Now—you've noticed how neatly I've skirted the little matter of seeing my…of seeing _Edward_…half naked, showing me the automail and at the same time unwittingly identifying himself as the beautiful boy in the photo with Alfons Heiderich in 1922. How the hell, you may ask, did I deal with that little revelation?

Quite..well, I suppose.

Look at it this way: _some things are not meant to be._

To quote Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof", "a fish may love a bird—but where would they make their home?"

But it is one thing to accept an impossible situation. The realm inside one's heart is still sacrosanct. I can accept that I can't have something or some one. I reserve the right to my feelings. _If I don't pursue them and don't build up false hopes and expect nothing from the object of my affection—is there harm done if I keep loving him as he really is, not some fantasy lover?_

Yeah. I wrestled with this moral dilemma. For all of _five minutes_.

I decided that he was dearer, more beautiful to me than ever. Not mine to touch. Not mine to hold or share a life with. But if there was anything—_anything_—Edward asked of me, it would be his.

And when he asked me at sixteen about considering following in his and my dad's footsteps as a keeper of the alchemic knowledge—a request both my siblings had found ridiculous—I never hesitated. I did it because it was right. I did it because it was necessary to help protect Earth from Amestris (and vice versa). I did it because my dear father needed my help.

And I did it because I loved Edward. If he needed me to help carry his burden, it was as good as done, no questions asked.

However…the burden he shared with me before my training began was perhaps the heaviest of all.

On a bitter Christmas Eve in the Rockies, I sang an old Civil War song to my family that I'd learned from some bluegrass pickers staying at the same resort. Edward rose abruptly, grabbed his coat and disappeared.

I found him in the snow, alone, eyes following a handsome, dark haired young man who was skating on the ice below. Edward apologized for leaving. "That song—it reminded me of someone from my past. Someone _gone."_

"Would it help to talk about her?

"_Him."_

I squeezed his hand tightly, "_Him_, then."

And he told me of The Colonel. "I waited years for that man," he said softly. "In the end, we only had four nights together."

_"…that faggot brother of yours.."_

So that was it. Edward loved _men_. It didn't bother me. I was raised to have an open mind and an open heart. At least he had loved _someone_—and had been loved in return, if only for a little while. I hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "I'm so sorry you lost him. And I'm glad you told me."

He stared at me. "You really _are_ all right…?" And then a ghost of a smile. "Wait here." He dashed off for a few minutes and came back with two steaming cups of hot coffee. "Are you cold?" I shook my head. "Can we watch the stars for awhile?"

And we sat there, leaning against each other, sipping the scalding brew which Edward fortified with brandy—just a quarter-capful for me—from his antique silver pocket flask. I could have told him I'd been drinking beer for a year now, but didn't want to spoil the moment.

After a long while he rose, dusted the snow off the folds of his coat and offered me his hand. "It won't be easy," he said simply.

"Wasn't easy for you or Daddy either. You didn't stop trying."

"I won't go easy on you,"

"Don't know why you would."

We were the same height now. He studied me for a long time. Then he nodded as if he'd come to a decision. "You're graduating a year early. You were thinking of taking a year off to work before entering Berkeley, right?'

"I was going to live with Win-Sara in Boston."

"Or…you can travel with me as a paid research assistant—and unpaid alchemic disciple. _And_ flunky," he added with a smirk.

I reached out and squeezed his hand. "_Screw_ Boston."

We had walked a bit in silence when he turned suddenly and stared at me. "_All is One, One is All._ What does that mean to you?"

I thought a moment, staring down at the thick guitar calluses on my fingers. "It's like being a single note in a symphony. The note is nothing by itself. And the symphony sounds off if that note is missing. The note needs the symphony. The Symphony needs the note. They're a part of each other—have to be together…" My voice trailed off.

He held my eyes for the _longest_ time. "Let's go tell Alphonse…"

"Edo told me about the Colonel."

Daddy looked up from the fire he had been drowsily contemplating all evening. Mom and Win had gone to a movie. My brother was down in the bar with half a dozen women hanging on his every word—women found him irresistible, with his shock of heavy blond hair, brilliant blue eyes and that thousand gigawatt smile of his. Edward was on a conference call with some scientist in Geneva. Daddy had sprawled out on the soft carpet of our suite, nursing a brandy and scratching the belly of our cat Harley, whom he'd insisted on smuggling into our hotel, on the logic that a Christmas without cats was not a proper holiday at all.

He sat up, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded slowly. "How do you feel about that?"

I dropped to my knees and warmed my hands by the fire. "It's so sad. I didn't know he was so lonely."

Daddy glanced at me. "That was quite a gift he gave you. He never talks about the Colonel. Not to anybody."

"Really?"

"Your brother and sister don't know. Neither does your mom, other than that Ed used to love a soldier in Amestris who we had to leave behind."

I considered for a moment. "Think he's still alive?"

Daddy sighed heavily and wrapped his long arms around his knees. "Sweetheart…I…I just don't think so. I mean, he was—what—fifteen-sixteen years older than Brother. If he's still alive, he'd be nearly ninety." A thoughtful smile lit his face. "He was so amazing in that last battle, the day the Gate opened on both sides. And he and Ed were snapping at each other, same as usual. You would have liked him, I think. Most of the ladies did," he added with a chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

Daddy's eyes began to twinkle. "Well, he was very handsome and could charm anybody if it suited his purpose. Mostly, though, he was brave. He loved Amestris more than anything—even Ed. There was this other officer who was his friend—he was killed trying to help the Colonel rise to the top. There was so much corruption, and the Colonel wanted to set the country straight. Bet he could have done it, too. When R-I mean, the Colonel—lost his friend he stopped at nothing to bring the killer to justice. Uncovered the whole plot with the homunculi. From that point on, all he wanted to do was stop them. Gave up everything—even his ambitions to rule the country, just for the sake of making things right."

"Wow," I murmured. "He must have been something. A tough act for any guy to follow?"

Daddy nodded. "For Ed, yes. I…I think he may have loved someone in Germany—but this thing with Ro—_the Colonel_, I mean—"

I was confused. "You won't say his name. Edo didn't either. What's the big deal?"

"What Ed's been hoping all these years," he shook his head, "is to find the Colonel again. He's hoping he's been born on earth. I mean," he gave me a searching look, "I found Winry. And you, your brother and sister—we knew all of you in Amestris. Ed thinks that there's no real reason he won't find…_Roy_…again "

"Is there?"

Daddy looked pensive. "Sweetness…I don't want to see Brother hurt or disappointed. Suppose—just suppose—Roy was found again. What are the chances that he'd love Ed again? Or that he could understand our responsibilities? If Ed found Roy…and it didn't work…can you imagine how it would hurt your uncle?"

Before I turned in that night I gazed out our window and saw a lone figure under the stars, his long blond pony tail whipping in the wind. Another, taller figure joined him. They embraced, the smaller man laying his head on the taller one's chest. In the dim light, I could see the sorrowful expression on the taller man's face.

_Maybe I can find the Colonel first._ It seemed so logical to me. _I could find him. I could help him understand about our family. I could bring—_

Shit.

I could bring them together.

God…my heart ached so much, seeing those two lonely figures embracing miserably under the Christmas moon. Daddy couldn't give my Edward what his heart cried out for. I certainly couldn't. Nothing would come of my silent devotion to Edward.

But maybe…just maybe…there was one gift I could give him. I wouldn't be allowed to tell him of my feelings. But if we truly—_truly_—love someone, their happiness is tantamount to everything else. Right?

_One note in a chord. One chord in a symphony._

_ If All is One, and One is All…_

If they have loved before…

"All right, damn it," I told the Christmas moon. "I'll find the Colonel. I'll find him and bring him home to Edward…"

…TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. Chapter 4

PAINT THE SKY WITH STARS, Chapter 4

By The Binary Alchemist 2010

"_You're graduating a year early. You were thinking of taking a year off to work before entering Berkeley, right?'_

_ "I was going to live with Win-Sara in Boston."_

_ "Or…you can travel with me as a paid research assistant—and unpaid alchemic disciple. And flunky," he added with a smirk._

_ I reached out and squeezed his hand. "Screw Boston."_

**Khajuraho. Madhya Pradesh, India, 14 September**

_Namaste, Bapu—_

And boy, what an eye-opener! Edo joked that they should check ID before letting people view the Tantric depictions on the outer temple walls. Edo was of course being all clinical and analytical about how the body's sexual energies can be used and controlled by skilled alchemists, but that this was something that was not generally practiced in Amestris. He said it was an advanced type found in the healing alkahestry of Xing—that your ability to 'detach part of his soul' is related to this. I had been doing the Middle Pillar exercises to 'open the inner Gate' with a fair amount of success. Edo says that if we were in Amestris I would be doing transmutations with very little trouble by now. Those were his actual words. Damn shame I'll never get to put them to the test…

_ He was a bit squeamish about bringing me to the 'erotic temples' but he says that I'm old enough to know about it, just as Izumi told you about it when you trained privately together after you'd passed puberty. He's so funny—blushing and stammering and finding it hard to look me in the eye. I was really evil and asked him if he and the Colonel ever got a chance to practice Tantric Alchemy…and you should have seen his face! He finally admitted, "we didn't have the time". I said, "yeah—but don't you wish you had?". He looked me straight in the eye and said, "yes!"_

_ It's funny—but I find I think of him less as my uncle and more as my mentor and teacher. We kid around less and things are a lot more serious. But I like this change. I'm a legal adult and he treats me like one—in fact, he's more likely to act immature at times than I do. Someone asked me if we were siblings—I told them, "he's my Gurudev now," and they understood. _

_ We are staying in a Buddhist dharmasala—and Edo is not sleeping well. In fact, he spends a lot of time roaming the gardens at night and in the morning looks like pure hell. He and some of the monks have late night discussions about reincarnation that are kind of damned hard on our translator. _

_ I wanted to tell you about something that happened a few weeks ago in Vrindavan, I—well, I'm not really sure how to talk about it, Daddy. I went to pay my respects at the shrine of Sarasvati, Goddess of Music and the arts and I met an old Shavite renunciant at the gates when I washed my hands before doing puja. I had some rupees in my pocket—and for some weird reason I just put the whole shebang in his begging bowl. He pranaam'ed to me and I to him and he dug in his bag and gave me a japa mala—a string of prayer beads that he said had been blessed. "Always the giver, where ever you are born," he told me. "And many lives left empty handed. But every sacrifice heals a hurt others have suffered and it is the Divine One that stands at the Gate and watches—and it is the Divine that will reward you and make the balance for what you do, not men of earth."_

_ I told Edo this and he nearly choked to death on his chai. Of course, he then muttered something about religion being complete bullshit. I then asked him why he kept talking to the monks at the Dharmasala and he told me sharply to shut up. Weird…_

_ But if Someone—Truth, maybe?—is watching from the Gate…._

_ Anyway, I went into the shrine and offered flowers and sandalwood dhoop incense and I asked for three things: _

_ First—to be a better student. Alchemy and Alkahestry don't come easily to me, especially since there's no real way to test myself and know for certain that I've got the theory right._

_ Second—for the protection and well being of you and our family and Edo_

_ Third—to find the Colonel—and that he and Edo love each other again. I know—I know! And you won't give me any clues to find him and I won't dare say anything to Edo. But don't I have just as good a chance of finding him as anybody else?_

Uluru, Northern Territory, 14 November

_Daddy--_

If you want to make Edo turn all sorts of funny colors, just say the words, "let's go get some grub" . He wussed out on bush tucker—honey ants and wittchety grubs, which for the record taste a little like scrambled eggs. Well, he WAS the one who told me to eat local when I travel, right???? He just sat on his ass and laughed at me—eating a ham sandwich, drinking a Coke and eating a Violet Crumble for dessert….Well…at least I followed orders and didn't puke all over his shoes either.

_ The sky is enormous here. Too big for words—which is a good thing. He's making me keep a vow of silence-until-spoken-to for a whole month. He says I can't just be left out to survive in the wild like the two of you did on Yock Island. So he took me to your friends among the _Pitjantjatjara_, Daddy, and I'm spending the month with my mouth shut and my mind open. No books. No radio. No TV or newspapers—and I can only write once a week. _

_ A lot of physical labor. A lot of shutting-up-and-paying-attention—but that's a good thing. In Australia—on land or in the sea—there's a lot that can kill you. Kind of like life, Edo says. He says Izumi Curtis spent a month in the snow in the North, you two went to Yock Island. I get the Outback. He says that it will be up for me to decide where to take MY student to stand the Vigil. That's a mind-blowing thought. MY students? But then, you and Edo aren't teaching me to keep the knowledge to myself. Edo says that one day my children—and possibly my nieces and nephews—will be looking to me to train them, to keep the Elric tradition alive. I said, "well, what about you and Daddy?" And Edo said, "why the fuck should I do all the work? That's why I'm training YOU!" I swear I could just kick his ass sometimes…._

Egypt. India. Japan. New Guinea. Australia.

Long, _long_ ways away from San Francisco. Long ways away from Daddy and my mom. And a hell of a bad place to get sick.

I was doing well, actually. Hard work, good plain food, fresh air and good company was doing worlds for me. I'd trimmed up a bit more, my asthma was improving and I was sleeping hard every night. Yeah, the vow of silence stuff was pretty annoying at time but I had known some sort of ordeal was coming. I just didn't think it was coming for Edward too…

He hadn't been resting well since India. I knew that. We weren't in the same rooms so I didn't know just how bad. I'm wondering if going through the journey of training me wasn't waking up some memories that were chasing him through his dreams.

He'd been…not exactly depressed, but not altogether himself since that Christmas Eve when he confided to me about the Colonel and admitted that he was lonely. He had the comfort of my Dad, the friendship of my mom, the love of my siblings. And even though I know he had no idea how I felt about him, he knew beyond any doubt that I'd thrown in my lot with him and that I was completely dedicated to 'wearing the red coat' someday. "Traveling with you is a lot like traveling with Al—only you don't clank and occasionally you _do_ have to stop and pee." And, unlike my dad, I wasn't sharing his bedroom.

And believe me…I would have given anything if he'd been anybody other than my own flesh and blood. No, proximity and familiarity did not breed contempt. If anything, my feelings were becoming more intense. And I was learning a different sort of alchemy—the art of transmuting profound desire and yearning into something deeper, something finer. I was channeling all that power and emotion into the single-minded quest; I would find the Colonel. I would find him and somehow make him love my Edward…and one day that haunted, numb look would be gone from those incredible amber eyes.

Anyway, it caught up with him. A low-grade fever became high, with chills and vomiting and the runs. Coorah Yindi, one of the 'clever women' listened to Edward's fussing and protesting only so long before contacting one of the bush doctors who diagnosed exhaustion, dehydration and a nasty intestinal bug. "Probably got it from bad food. If he'd eaten off the bush like you reckon he'd be fit as you are, miss," he told me with a grin. He handed me samples of an antibiotic, gave me some powdered Gatorade and told me to keep an eye on him. "Make him stay in his bed for a few days—rest and fluids are what he needs.

Coorah supplemented the western medicine with herbal teas she'd brewed in a billy can over an open fire fed with gumtree leaves. Far from objecting, the doctor agreed that the natural herbs were probably better medicine than the capsules. "Keep some of that cold tea at hand and get him to sip a little all day. Keep an eye on him at night. Not sleepin' well, is he?" I nodded. "Coorah'll give you a tea for that too, miss. G'day!"

Coorah and the other women knew that I was undergoing a type of spiritual training and respected it and respected Edward, even if he had nothing but contempt for even the idea of any kind of god or deity watching over the affairs of humankind. They honored my imposed silence and were kind enough to invite me to sit at their women's fires when they talked to the girls preparing for their rite of passage into adulthood. So I wasn't surprised when Coorah took me aside and told me that with Edward incapacitated she would assist me in my vigil. "I'll show you what plants will help him. You make the tea, you take care of him and learn what you can." And before I could make any gesture of protest she'd packed up my rucksack and bedroll and set my things up in Edward's tent.

That first night was pure hell—on a lot of levels.

First off, Edward was a shitty patient, no pun intended. His guts had turned to water and while the loperamide had helped he had a few gastric accidents, and he was so damned weak he couldn't…well, you know. Embarrassed the hell out of him and wasn't a barrel of laughs for me either. I stepped out of the tent long enough for him to clean up and change clothing and then hauled away the stuff that needed washing.

You wanna know what love is? _Love_ is what makes you stay when confronted with someone's shitty boxers. _Real love_ is what makes you get out the Dr. Bronner's Soap and scrub them clean again. _Unconditional love_ is cleaning up _vomit_. Thankfully, the women provided me with fresh-smelling wild herbs that I bruised and they made the tent smell a little nicer.

I managed to feed him damper bread with a little golden syrup and plenty of tea, as much as I could get him to swallow. "There's not any fuckin' grubs in that, right?" he grumbled, proving that he was still not too sick to bitch.

I indicated that I was going to go wash up before bed. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled, his head falling heavily back on the pillow. Just as I was heading out the flap he called my name. "Hey…sorry you had to deal with…_you know_. Even Al never had to wash up after I crapped my pants. I'll make it up to you. Promise."

I'd pinned his shorts on a clothes line and I felt them to check if they'd dried out enough. Nope, still damp. I tossed my towel over the line and headed to the fire to dry out my hair before turning in.

Coorah was alone and nodded as I sat down, pouring me a tin cup full of brew. We sat in companionable silence for awhile.. Finally she glanced at me over the flames and observed, "Your heart is in your eyes when they follow him."

"Nothing happened. Nothing _will_. I've felt this way for years. I can't understand it."

"It's not your first Walk. Who knows? Things were different other times. Point is, love doesn't die when we die. Deep love. Deep _hate_. Keeps on going. "

"There's someone—a man---someone he loved and lost and remembers. I want to find him. Want to see if there's a chance…"

"May be the price you pay in loss is the sacrifice. The test."

"_One cannot gain something without sacrificing something of equal value. That is the law of Equivalent Exchange._ That's part of our tradition."

"Your people, my people. Different words. Same _truth."_

I paused outside the tent. _"Snnnrrrgggkkkkk…..Snrrrrggggggkkkkkkk"_

_ Great_. Shit. Vomit. Stench…and now snoring. Loud. _Really_ fucking loud. How in the hell such a loud sound came out of such a small nose was beyond me. But…that's love. Love is going in the tent when you'd rather be almost anywhere else. Edward needed me. I took a deep breath and crawled inside, offering a mute petition to the gods that he didn't have gas on top of this.

The screams began around two am.

He was shivering and thrashing, biting his lips so hard they bled. Awful, primal cries—sounded like they were being ripped from his guts.

He was crying for my father. _"Al! Al! No..nooooooo! Give him back! Give him back! He's all I have left!" _Sweat had drenched his shirt and trickled down his neck, pooling at the base of his throat. _"Alphonse! Alphonse!"_

I crawled out of my sleeping bag and hurried to his side. His skin was scalding; it was a fever dream, a hallucination. _Shit, he's reliving it—the night Daddy went through the Gate. _ Not knowing what the hell else to do, I began to shake him gently. He didn't stop screaming—if anything, it made it worse. _Jesus…what is he seeing in his mind?_ It had to be more terrifying than anything I could imagine.

I had to get him back, get him the fuck out of there.

Instinctively, I lay down beside him and pulled him close, cradling his head on my shoulder. I don't know why, but I began rocking him gently, stroking the damp hair back from his forehead. Lips close to his ear, I started humming this old song I heard from the cradle, a song Daddy used to sing to me. A lullaby from Resembool.

_Rest in my arms—sleep without fear_

_ I'll be beside you 'til morning draws near_

_ I shall paint the sky with stars_

_ To watch and guard you from afar…_

Funny. I hadn't thought of that song for ages. Nobody else I knew had ever heard it when I sang it in music class in elementary school. A simple song. A beautiful song, of how a father would paint the sky with stars and craft a golden moon to hang in the window—all to keep watch over a 'most precious child'. A song sung to comfort a terrified child when the valley echoed and rumbled with cannon fire and the village lay in ashes. A song of the Ishballan War.

Gradually, the screams became helpless sobs. I pressed soft, soothing kisses on his brow, his eyes, his cheeks, whispered quiet words of reassurance in his ear. _You're safe. Alphonse is safe. It's all right….let it go…it's all over…._

"M-mom?"

I leaned down and brushed my lips lightly against his. "Shhhh….hush now…you'll wake your brother," I lied. "Shhhh, Edward….my love…go back to sleep. It was just a bad dream. I'll be right here—I'll never leave you…"

He whimpered and burrowed his face into the curve of my neck and I felt his taut shoulders sag with relief. _"Mom…"_

…TO BE CONTINUED….


	5. Chapter 5

_Uluru, 19 November_

_Daddy—_

_Everything's fine—at least, I'm good. Edo's been pretty sick and I've been taking care of him with the help of the local bush doc and your friend Coorah Yindi, who I'm beginning to think is a kinder version of that Teacher you had as a boy. As they say here, Coorah's "bonzer" and I'm really going to miss her. But she says that now Edo's back on his feet I've got to go with her up into the caves at Uluru for some private training that you specially requested. She showed me a letter you mailed to her before I left the States and says she'll give it to me when we get there—can't you just see the question marks in my eyes???_

_Edo says we'll be heading back to the States for the holidays—he's promised to stop by your doctor's office and get some tests done to make sure he's absolutely tip-top before we head on out again. He also says he has a special surprise for me—two, actually—as a thanks for taking care of him. Totally unnecessary, but you know how he gets._

Anyway, he ordered me to 'save some room at the bottom of your note, Kiddo" because he wanted to write you too—so I'll hand it over to your brother now—love to Mom and the Sibs----Teddy.

PS: Edo promised he won't read my part of the message—went on about how my messages to you are sacrosanct. Well, let's put it to the test, shall we?

When Edo was so damned sick and puking and shitting his guts out, we needed to get his strength back. He wouldn't tolerate a lot of food so Coorah had me make some soups for him. "Now, if you were sick, what would you eat to get strong if you couldn't hunt meat?"

Damn right. Pureed witchetty grubs. Mashed 'em into a paste, and stirred them into the broth. They were toasted in the hot ashes, so they tasted less…grubby. Edo never guessed and only commented that it tasted good, kinda smoky. They are very, very high in protein, easy to digest—and if he ever finds out I fed him squashed bugs he's going to seriously beat my ass….

**Al—**

**Your daughter saved my life, and possibly my sanity. I don't quite know what I may have said while I was raving and screaming (and shitting and puking) but all I know was I was scared to death you were gone. I think I kept going over That Night, reliving it. Any doubts I had that she was our mother are gone for good. When I woke up two nights ago and saw that look in her eyes, I knew on some level she remembered, even if she doesn't understand it. She and that friend Coorah of yours never left my side. **

**I'm canceling plans to go to Kenya—I'm bringing her home for the holidays. Partly because she needs it. Partly because I want to make sure I don't have any parasites or whatnot in my guts. But mostly to be with you. After fever dreams like that, I need to see you with my own eyes to believe you're really safe.**

**--Ed**

**PS: It is only out of gratitude for saving my life that I'm not going to give your kid the automail ass whooping of a lifetime for feeding me insects. Just see if she gets anymore valentines chocolates from her dear old uncle….I can't stop brushing my teeth and obsessing about mixing in a half-can of Nine Lives into her favorite tuna salad when we get back to the States….**

This part…this is speculation. As in leaps of logic that I'd rather not have to make, you know? And this also goes back to some of those things Envy said that awful day in Ranamuerte. Things about my Uncle—and my dad.

Together.

Okay. Do I think my uncle fucked my dad?

No.

Do I think something may have happened?

Uhhhh….yeah. But before you start freaking or making retching noises, hear me out. Guys do…things. Together. You know what a circle jerk is. I mean, male friends of mine have admitted to beating off with other guys, including siblings. As in "my brother and I used to beat off to this stack of old Playboys we found in this shack out in the woods…"

Okay, deeeeep breath here. My dad goes 'into the can' when he's , what, ten years old? Total sensory deprivation. Can't touch. Can't taste or eat. Can't be held. Can't feel. Meanwhile, right by his side, Edo is going through puberty. From what little I know, Edo was a late bloomer. He got scared off because for one thing he was completely obsessed with getting Dad's body back, and for another every time somebody touched his body it was to cause pain. Serious pain. Either they were beating the shit out of him or they were doing some automail procedure to his stumps or ports or his nerves that made him scream, and piss on himself and throw up---hey, his admission, not my conjecture—can you imagine what that does to you? Other than brotherly hugs and a mom's tenderness as a very young kid—no other touch or human contact actually felt good.

Aside from wanking, I would imagine.

Face it—my mom was no prude and understood that touching yourself is natural curiosity. When you discover it feels really good, you keep doing it. Mom didn't throw a fit when she caught my brother with his dick in his hand. She just said, "excuse me" and closed the door and didn't come back. When I started blooming, she actually talked about 'jilling off', something no other mother did of my generation. She said, "I'd rather buy you a vibrator than buy a crib". She was right. It kept me (mostly) out of trouble when a lot of my classmates got the clap or got a baby. But this wasn't something girls discussed among themselves. Sure, guys could hole up in the basement, drink beer and haul out their dicks and go to town, but girls? Hell no. (The exception being those 500.00 a pop workshops on 'exploring femininity' or those 'Our Bodies, Our Selves" classes where they handed you a speculum and a mirror and you were supposed to oooh and ahhh over your own cervix. Weird.)

So, let's put two and two together. My dad, Alphonse Elric, gets his body back—a body that's been watching from the Gateway all this time. That body is sexually mature—it is not the body of a child. It has the same drives and needs…and guess what? Daddy's DNA has been combined with Edo's thanks to that blood-letting in the transmutation ritual. There's a powerful link of body and mind and spirt—closer than twin-ship. Truth is—and even Mom has admitted this—Daddy and Edo are as close to one person as is humanly possible.

Again—Daddy gets his body back. He's been in sensory deprivation for years. The center of the world is his other self, Edward. Is it beyond the realm of possibility that…they touched each other?

Did they plan it? Doubt it. Did it happen more than once? Maybe. Is it still going on? No. I honestly don't believe it. And I don't think Mom really believes it either, even if she threw it up to Dad that time when she was really pissed at his loyalty to his brother.

Now, how do I feel about it?

Not as freaked out as I should be. I suspect my sibs would be having coronaries over this—or maybe not. Win's a doctor after all, and Alfons is—well, he's a guy. Guys are different about sex. He might think, "So you jacked off with your brother, ho hum." Bet he wouldn't dare think, "so you jacked off your brother". No fucking way would he let himself thing that.

Symbiosis. Think about that. Daddy and Edo. One being,. Two bodies. And since Edo didn't marry or have kids and lost his Colonel, all else he's probably had are one night stands or affairettes. If Edo had found his Colonel, would he have been screaming for Daddy when the fever drove him out of his mind? Maybe not quite so much.

I'm going to put all that out of my mind. Waaaaay out.

**Uluru, 22 November**

I'm back from my Walk. Just wanted you to know. We'll talk when I get home about some of it.

--Teddy

"_**'Cooma el ngruwar, ngruwar of cooma, illa booka mer ley urrie urrie."**_

_**'One is all, all is one, the soul will not die.'—Aboriginal saying**_

Oh god….oh god…

I'm not sure I can put this into words what happened in that cave…

Three days after I wrote to my father I was alone in a cave in Uluru. Coorah had left water but no food. I was to fast, pray to my ancestors and to the land and ask for guidance. "Utter crap," said Edward.

My dad thought otherwise.

Coorah had allowed me to bring what she called my 'clever bag', a blanket to lie on and and my father's letter. Before we left she had painted my

body and blessed me and said goodbye. "The women will mourn for the child

who dies in this cave. They will sing to praise the birth of the woman who will return to us. You will be _alira_, a daughter, to the _Anangu_ and welcome at our

fires."

With shaking hands I unfolded the letter from California.

_Little One—_

_I would give anything to be there with you. That's why I sent you_

_with Ed. I'm afraid I'd cave in and hover and protect and be the sort of_

_smothering parent you don't need right now. It wasn't easy for_

_him—I don't think you'll ever realize how dearly he loves you_

_and how protective he is. _

_There are some things Ed is going to tell you when you_

_get back to camp—and you WILL get back. I know it. You are_

_going to be fine. It's going to be an unpleasant three days, _

_especially the fasting, but Coorah knows what she's doing—_

_she helped train me and I spent three nights in the same cave_

_when you were ten and you thought I was on a business trip._

_And yes—your mother knows everything and approves. She's_

_good about that—one of the many reasons I love her so much._

_Anyway, these things Ed will tell you—they will explain_

_a lot and will make you happy to hear them. Ed wanted you to_

_do this vigil in the Canadian Rockies, but I was more concerned_

_about the cold dry air making it hard for you to breathe. And Coorah_

_pretty much told me she wanted to do this. She's quite old. And she_

_doesn't talk to Outsiders about sacred things. I had to earn her_

_respect—and it is worth having, as I'm sure you've realized. _

_Ed will tell you this is all a load of B.S. I love my brother_

_and respect his intelligence—but he's wrong, Teddy. He is so_

_wrong. Noa proved to him that clairvoyance is real. The Thule_

_society demonstrated to Dad and to Ed that there is such a thing_

_as magic, just as the people of our world wouldn't believe in_

_Alchemy, Ed doesn't like to believe in magic and shamanism._

_I've spent my whole life investigating the natural power of this_

_world—so like the Retan-Jitsu/Alkahestry of Xing that we've_

_discussed. _

_You may never practice Renkenjitsushi—the Alchemy_

_of Amestris. But it is important that you study it. Like me, though,_

_you will find a deeper kinship with other powers—which is how_

_I am able to leave my body and pass parts of my soul into other_

_objects—even people if need be. You follow in my footsteps, _

_but you need Ed as a teacher because he will be tough—even_

_harsh—if he has to to get you the knowledge you need.._

_I want to leave you with this thought: All is One and_

_One is All. But more than that, we are a part of each other. _

_The roles change—and sometimes they are half-remembered,_

_and that can be very hard on us, very confusing. It can even_

_break our hearts—but if we can unlock the past we will find _

_clear understanding and we will know the right path to choose._

_I won't even try to tell you what you mean to me._

_Love, _

_Daddy_

I kissed the letter, put it in my clever bag as a talisman against

fear, and rolled up in my blanket.

And with nothing to distract me, I had to think about what

Coorah had done the night before I left camp…

Edward had been improving but the dreams were still eating

at him. I stayed in the tent to be near him, close enough to clasp his

hand or shake him if he got caught in a nightmare. I had been unable

to sleep, listening to the soft sound of his breathing and drifted off. When

I woke, I was _beside him. _Out of my sleeping bag. Lying close,

my head on his pillow, his breath soft against my lips.

And I just couldn't stand it anymore.

I could feel the warmth of his body. I could smell the faint

sweetness of his hair. We were sharing our breaths. Under the

sleeping bag I could see the hard ridge of his cock, although there

was no knowing who he was dreaming about. Undoubtedly his

body was responding to my own warmth and nearness—the

comfort of another body. Perhaps he was dreaming of the Colonel

…hopefully not about my father. But definitely not about me.

I didn't care. I had been teased and I had suffered and I

_needed_ . That was all I could think about. I rose up on one elbow,

my mouth above his, my hand inching down to stroke him—when

I heard a very soft noise, as soft as the rustle of a field mouse

scrabbling over a dry rock in the gully.

There was a faint bluish glow. In the corner, motionless,

sat Coorah Yindi. And you will not believe me, but I heard her—and

her lips _never moved:_

"_Your father can see in the dark, too."_

Oh god.

I flew out of the tent, stumbled into the bush and fell to my

knees. I think I vomited up everything I'd eaten since the day I was born.

After awhile, Coorah came for me. She held me close and rocked me

in her arms like I had rocked Edward—no, _Edo _—when he had been so

terribly ill. I cried so hard my nose was bleeding. I cried so hard I broke

a small blood vessel in my left eye. I felt like I was in the grip of vast

hands that were wringing the pain out of me. I wanted to claw out my

heart it was hurting so terribly.

"Teddy? Hey! Are you all right?" It was my uncle, looking

worried, crouching beside us in the dark. "Don't tell me you're getting

sick—"

"She's not sick the way you were sick, my friend." Coorah

held a bottle of fresh water to my lips, urging me softly to take small

sips so I wouldn't choke. "This is soul-sickness. Means it's time for her

to go Dreaming. We'll go when it gets light."

So…Daddy knew. He knew everything, about my obsession with his brother. He sent me to Coorah knowing I had to go through this, to work it through. To be free, even if it broke my heart. I was so ashamed—and yet even as I felt that shame I could feel his strength and unconditional love as clearly as if he was there to hug me tight and tell me it was going to be all right.

This time I was the one who was feverish. I was the one sweating and screaming and throwing up and begging the gods—any god—to please, please give me an answer. And there was nobody to hold me, to rock me or sing to me of comfort me. All I could do was sip water, wipe tears and pray for the night to end.

The third night I was so exhausted. Hell, a snake even crawled across my bare foot and I didn't even twitch. I did. Not. Give. A. Fuck. About anything. I cried myself to sleep again, not giving a rat's ass if I ever woke up again…

That's when I met the Colonel.

He looked to be no older than I was. Tall and elegant in a uniform of dark blue, immaculate white gloves on his hands, embellished with a crimson array of some sort. A fringe of silky black hair spilled over his dark eyes and he smiled a little as he offered me his hand. **There's something you need to see**

"Fine, what the hell."

I got up.

I left my body behind me.

"You're him, aren't you? The Colonel."

He smirked at me. **In a sense—rather like the seed is the memory of the tree, Tricia Elric. The roots are within the Gateway where I am. The tree flourishes on Earth's side. A young man in a city called London has fallen asleep over his books. His family wants him to stay in that city but he has been given the opportunity to cross the ocean and attend a university in a country called America. And in America, Alphonse Elric is sleeping late away from your mother's side, behind the closed doors of his library. His soul has left his body. He is forming a bridge between the worlds**

Like Marley's Ghost Of Christmas Past, he flickered like a candle flame. **Go now, and remember what you've seen. And tell Edward this: next time we meet I will see him with BOTH eyes**

Something grabbed me, shook me, ripped me to pieces—and then I found myself Somewhere Else.

It wasn't China.

It should have been China but it wasn't.

And I was being given away by my father to a man who had no use for me…

The Master of Fire shook his head. "I do not require a wife or consort. I will not keep a slave. There is nothing for her to do. She should stay here.

My father shook his head. I would not be allowed to return home. I shouldered my small satchel of belongings and ran after the Master of Fire, who never even turned around to look at me and paid me no attention until he made camp for the night. "I told you to go home."

"They won't take me back. I'm a gift."

"I'm sorry. I don't require you. You must go."

I stared at his sleeve. "Your robe is poorly mended. Already it is coming to pieces. I'm clever with a needle." I pulled my small sewing kit out of my pack. "And I can make your rice."

He looked annoyed. "I don't need you to prepare my meals—"

"Think how much more time you can sit in solitude and contemplate your own genius if you don't have to cook or sweep or mend your things."

We glared at one another for a long moment. Then I threaded my needle and got to work, cursing his stubborn pride under my breath with every stitch….

…To Be Continued….


	6. Chapter 6

Paint the Sky With Stars, Chapter 6

By The Binary Alchemist

("Give Me Strength" by Eric Clapton, 1974)

So—what the hell did YOU do for fun when you were seventeen and a half?

Drink beer? Get high? Hang out, go to the beach, get laid, flip burgers?

Or did you go on some kind of insane vision quest with a mad genius uncle you were more than a little in love with—not that anything would ever come of it—in hopes that one day you might know enough of some quasi-mythical alchemic mumbo-jumbo _horseshit _to keep something really horrible from happening if some lunatic from the other side of reality decided to bust down the door between the worlds and start slaughtering humanity wholesale?

I could have been at the L. A. Coliseum worshipping Eric Clapton—I had played _461 Ocean Boulevard_ over and over until the grooves were about to wear flat—and it was one of those songs Eric penned while going through the hell of heroin withdrawal that kept racing through my head as I lay in my own hell in the heart of Ayer's Rock:

_Dear Lord, give me strength to carry on.  
Dear Lord, give me strength to carry on.  
My home may be out on the highway,  
Lord, I've done so much wrong  
But please, give me strength to carry on._

Edward would never have offered a prayer to any deity. After three days in the heat and three nights alone with all the worms of madness and guilt and fear and insecurity eating away at my brain, I would have prayed to a goddamn Hostess Twinkie if I thought it could give me some goddamn answers about why the hell I was doing this—and how in the hell you could just turn off your emotions so you won't make a flaming asshole out of yourself over someone you flat out can't have. _Ever_.

I mean, think about it—if Coorah Yindi didn't pull her weird blue light talking-without-moving-the-lips thing, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from…

Doing.

_It._

And if I was really honest, I had to admit I was more pissed off than ashamed, although finding out that my Dad was on to me (even though Edward was apparently clueless) make me so sick I puked up everything but my shoelaces.

So. Do the right thing. Slam the breaks on the carbonated hormones. Quit cold turkey. Spend three nights and four days naked and sweating and covered with painted swirls of clay, screaming and freaking and ready to kill for a large order of fries….

Yeah. Pretty goddamn typical day in the life of a seventeen-and-a-half year old from San Francisco, California.

By the third day my mood had swung from high dudgeon to lowest apathy. And like some Dickensian tale, three Ghosts had come calling—the first of which was the Beautiful Young Soldier In Blue. The _Colonel_. Ed's Colonel. If I hadn't felt so listless I would have been interested in him. Anybody with a pulse would be interested. He was _gorgeous_. As it was I barely glanced at him, and when he told me he had something important to show me it was a real effort to say, "yeah, what the fuck," and follow.

It's a damn good thing I did. Because what he had to show me had _everything_ to do with my feelings for Edward---and _his…_

As I said, it _should_ have been China.

It was a country on the other side of the Gateway. A country called Xing—and at fifteen I had been handed over as chattel to a powerful Xingian alchemist called the Master of Fire—given away by a reasonably kindly father who just didn't have enough rice to feed so many daughters. I wasn't the eldest or the prettiest or the one with the best prospects. But I was practical, useful and had enough character that I'd scarcely be quashed if my new master didn't pay much attention to me. Father knew the Master might be cold and impersonal but he would hardly let me starve.

The Master of Fire was _cold._ Not unkind—just detached. He ate little, cared nothing for the state of his clothing, his dojo or the emotional well being of his disciples. He had vowed _zaai tong_, which literally means 'withdraw to study'—in other words, he eschewed the pleasures of the flesh, even for the sake of begetting. It was, in his words, a 'distraction', so he didn't bother with such things. Oh, he was neat and clean about his person. His hair was combed and he didn't smell and his breath was inoffensive. And thanks to me his robes were neat and his smalls were laundered and his shoes mended. He took little notice of his meals, eating distractedly with his elegant nose stuck in a scroll or ancient text. If he had let me, I would have scrubbed his ink-stained fingers with slices of citrus and salt until they were clean again but at least his nails were neatly pared.

In other words, he was presentable—which is about all you can hope for in a scholar.

His people skills, however, left a hell of a lot to be desired.

It was a good thing that he was oblivious to so much. What he did deign to notice he complained about. He had a dry, sarcastic way with a cutting remark that made you want to _brain_ him.

That first night, I mended a tear in his sleeve, made a hot broth with our meager provisions and laid out his bedroll by the fire.

"The stitches are uneven."

"Fix it yourself next time," I shot back.

"This is cold," he gestured to his broth.

"It wasn't when I dished it up. Not my fault if you didn't eat it when it was hot."

"You should not touch a renunciant's bedding."

"By that logic, I shouldn't touch your sleeve or make your dinner—and I don't see you stripping naked or going hungry."

One year later, he was still complaining. The dojo was spotless. He was healthy from my cooking. His new garments were free of mends. His disciples were well fed and had become my new family.

I slept on the floor at the foot of his bed because it irritated him so much. "I do not have need of you in the night. Go sleep someplace else."

"A soul so pure and perfect is at dire risk of being abducted by envious demons," I deadpanned. "If I am present, they will take my unworthy soul in your stead."

"In truth, the only demon I have to struggle with is you, Soshi. This rice is too soggy."

"If you don't wish to eat it, you can _wear_ it."

One day he informed me that from this day forward, he would have no unlettered members of his household, dropping a children's calligraphy scroll right in the middle of the vegetables I was chopping. He gestured for an apprentice to take my place at the cutting board. "I cannot bear the discourse of the ignorant. Wash your hands and come with me."

Six weeks later he presented me with a small bundle of mewling white fur, spotted here and there with black and orange. "I have found the purring of cats to be useful in the promoting of sleep. Lack of sleep is undoubtedly the cause of your foul disposition. Also, I detected mouse droppings in the pantry—"

"Since when has Your Elegance ever stuck his nose—"

"—hopefully, she will be more vigilant in chasing mice than you and your broom."

My robes were replaced with new ones so I would not 'shame the dojo in the marketplace' by looking poor and shabby. A rainbow of spring flowers began to peek among my garden herbs for no other reason than the Master assumed 'they must have some virtue other than useless beauty'. Sacks of rice and strings of coins were sent to my hungry family 'in hopes that they will not attempt to burden some other poor Alcahestry master with others of your ill-tempered brood."

I never had a brother. I didn't dare ask if he was an only child. But slowly…almost imperceptively, we grew to care for one another as if a tie of past life blood had drawn us together. There was no act of kindness between us that wasn't heralded with a hailstorm of sarcasm and complaint, yet kindness—even grudging respect—was an unspoken truth between Master and servant.

And in the second year of my servitude he gave me a husband.

And _that_ was where my current troubles began…

Every child in Xing heard the stories of Xerxes from the village story-tellers.

They did not sleep well afterwards.

A vast and powerful nation. The shimmering spires of its grand cities. The fertile fields and the beasts who tilled them. The beautiful people—hair of gold, eyes of topaz—_gone._ Gone in a single night. And it had happened just years before my birth.

It was said that every living soul in the country was struck down during an eclipse and that none of that race had survived. This was not true. An alchemist of Xerxes and his pregnant wife were in our capital the day of the eclipse. They had been warned by omens that foretold of a terrible calamity that would plunge their world in a darkness 'greater than the shadow over the Sun.' Fearing for his unborn child, the alchemist had fled across the desert in hopes of sparing their lives.

As the moon swallowed the sun and the noonday light became darkness, the alchemist Hermes Secundas and his wife Hellas fell dead in the marketplace near the Emperor's palace. The woman was taken to one of the Pharmacists of Alcahestry who cut the living child from the dead mother's womb and kept the child alive. They gave him the name of his father's line in the Xerxian custom, recording the name of _Hermes Trismegistus_, 'thrice great of the line of Hermes' on the palace scroll of scholars.

Raised by the brightest and wisest in halls of great learning, young Trismegistus grew to be a man of great wisdom—and great anger. Believing himself to be the last of his kind, he swore to master the alchemic and alkahestric arts and avenge the people of Xerxes—to find the hand that drew the array that destroyed his parents and their world…and burn it to _ashes_.

So deep was his rage and grief as he grew to adulthood that many feared to teach him, for all his keen intelligence. So it was that he left the Imperial City and set out alone on a bitter journey in search of a Master who would give him the training he believed he needed to settle the debt of honor and blood.

I expected Master to throw him bodily through the gates, this beautiful, golden young man with the bitter laugh and dust on his sandals. He had heard stories of the Wanderer and how the doors of every dojo had been shut to him since he had embraced his vendetta and abandoned the royal court of scholars.

He wasn't driven away. I was instructed to settle him in his own quarters, to provide him with clothing fit to his rank, to feed him, wait upon his good will even as I did for my Master of Fire. "I will…walk with him awhile," my master said thoughtfully. "I find such passionate devotion to a single quest…_intriguing_. I will observe him."

I did not find him unpleasant. To be blunt, I could scarcely tear my eyes from him. I followed my orders to care for him as Master had bid me, but my heart betrayed my resolve, racing queerly in my breast when I was in his presence.

He was polite. Other than that, he took little notice of me, other than nodding when we passed in the halls or in acknowledgement of a teacup refilled or a scroll fetched. My cat claimed outrageous liberties with the Wanderer, pawing at his leg for attention, sprawling and rolling in the middle of the scrolls on his desk and crying for attention every time our guest had a spare hand that could be better employed rubbing a snowy belly or scratching a spotted ear. I secretly envied my pet. She could coax a smile from him. The only other being who could do that was our Master of Fire, and that was a puzzling matter to be sure.

Love between men is not unheard of. It is, however, not spoken of.

Master had sworn himself to celibacy. The Wanderer Hermes Trismegistus had sworn himself to revenge. And I had been sworn to servitude. A messy triangle of emotion, indeed. I yearned for one above and beyond my station. He yearned for the Master of Fire/ And the Master of Fire was so proud and arrogant that he would not relent, would not allow himself the joy and comfort of the Wanderer's close companionship. Often and often I would wait upon them in the evening, sharing tea or arguing theory or occasionally playing at board games. Now and then they would drink together and I would later find them walking in my garden or watching the moon from the banks of the river, sitting so near to one another. I did not feel jealous. You can't own the sky or a flame or the tides of the wind. I wanted my Master to be happy. Our guest's presence made him inwardly happy, although he seemed as outwardly detached as ever—it was the empathy between my Master and myself that helped me to see this.

One night, I had risen to visit the necessary and was unable to sleep. I wandered by the coolness of the river in hopes that sleep might come on such a sweltering night.

I saw two shadows _merge_.

I turned away and swiftly returned to my pallet at the foot of my master's empty bed, passing by the empty room where the Wanderer should have been sleeping.

In the morning I was summoned to my master's study. He was applying his seal to a scroll and to the household register. "You are dismissed from service, Soshi. I have no need of a servant." Before I could protest, he lifted a long finger and fixed me with his dark eyes. "However, it occurs to me that there is no Mistress of the Dojo to speak for me and oversee things in my absence. It is my decision that you will assume that office. And I have notated in my family record that any sons you may bear will become my inheritors. Now," he rubbed his temples briskly, "this has wearied me beyond belief. Fetch my tea—and where is Master Hermes?"

I was now a woman of rank and respect, with servants to pour my tea and sweep the floors and chase the mice from the pantry. It was nice enough—and I was busier than ever attending the Master's correspondence, caring for his library…and the very odd experience of supervising others to perform my old tasks. Oddest was having my own private quarters. "My pallet is clean and comfortable. I don't need a new room."

"Soshi, you will undoubtedly prefer to entertain your husband away from the gaze of others." His dark eyes looked slightly troubled. "I am giving you in marriage to Hermes Trismegistus. I have observed that you do not find him disagreeable, and he has agreed to the match. I have made provisions for your sons to succeed me as masters here and I will provide dowries to your daughters so they may make fine matches when they come of age."

So we went to the temple and were married before the gods.

And yes—it was bliss. For _me._

My husband was never unkind to me. But following our wedding night he did not seek my bed. In fact, if I wanted to speak to him I had to seek him out in my master's chambers. I then informed him that if I was to produce an heir for the dojo, it would require a little assistance from him. After that, he appeared dutifully in my bedchamber once a moon.

I _cherished_ him. I poured over ancient Tantric texts to master the arts of pleasure so that this duty would be less onerous to him. One night he had completed his share of the agreement and was rising to leave when I held him down and persisted until he was helpless to resist the service of my mouth. His hands tangled helplessly in my hair as he arched and shuddered.

But it was not me he cried out for as he surrendered to ecstasy.

And that made all the difference.

Six months later, the moon tides in my womb had ceased to run their course. I informed Master before I informed my husband, whom I had seen little of late. There were rumors that he had moved into my master's quarters and now slept in the little pallet I had lain on for so long. I confirmed this the morning I entered that chamber and found my golden one, my beautiful husband, sitting on the master's bed, running an ivory comb through Master's heavy dark hair.

I _fled_.

That was it, then. I would bear a child for the dojo—and they would raise it together, banishing me, sending me away. I was little more than a brood mare—no, a brood mare would have been treated with greater consideration.

It was three days later when my husband found me on the road and fetched me home. Kneeling, he gently bathed my blistered feet and bandaged them with his own hands before settling me into bed and gathering me close in awkward tenderness.

"It is true, little Soshi. I love one who is not free to return my love, and I regret that I have not been a better husband. He says that I have been unkind, and I ask forgiveness. Though he will not say so to you, our master regards you as his little sister, and since he cannot break his vows he gave me the hand of the one he holds in highest regard. There was no thought to banish you, but to bind you closer. It is perhaps not the family you might have envisioned," he smiled and softly touched my belly, "but it would be family nonetheless. You and I. Our son. And for Huo Ma Sheng. _Together_." It was the first time I'd ever heard the Master of Fire's name spoken aloud.

_Huo Ma Sheng_. _The Wild Fire-Horse._

He would go into the desert for three days to purify himself, he told me. Upon his return, Ma Sheng and I would go to the temple and pledge ourselves as brother and sister before the gods. The ties of blood would be consecrated. We would live together, raising my children and perhaps—if we were fortunate—my master—no, my _brother--_would smile for me at last…

_**All they found were his remains,**_ the Colonel finished soberly. _**He'd gone to the ruins of Xerxes and something was waiting for him. At least,**_ he sighed _**I had you to confide to in my grief. And the comfort of watching his son take my place as Master of Fire. But more important is how the 'then and there' affects the 'here and now', Trisha. Listen closely._

My apathy and fatigue had evaporated. I sat up and paid close attention.

**_I had scorned the flesh—and was raised in a house of ill repute to teach me humility. I was hypocritical in my desire—and spent a great deal of time jumping in and out of bed with both men and women. I had no love for my country or the well being of my students—I became a leader of men and dedicated my life to their protection. And I loved the soul that would be reborn as Edward Elric but denied him out of my own pride and arrogance. We were born in Amestris and again, it was his age and his anger that delayed our acknowledgement of our feelings. This time---here and now—we _may_ get it right. We may be able to love each other, although there is no guarantee it will be easy**_

"Oh, but—I'll find you," I told him excitedly. "I've sworn—"

**_NO MORE VOWS. Enough.** He seemed almost angry. **Stop searching for me. If we are meant to be together, it will happen. You need to focus on your own life and happiness. You are obsessed with Edward because of the love that went unanswered in Xing. Let it go. He paid the price for his neglect by losing you in Amestris.**_

"What?? What do you mean, losing me in Amestris?"

Suddenly a tall bearded man appeared by his side, looking very tired and very sad.

**_You were his mother, Trisha. Alphonse was the son you bore in Xing. It was Edward who suffered the most when you died—because his soul was paying the debt of his indifference to you as your husband. And I** _he straightened his glasses as a tear slipped down his cheek **_was the father who gave you away, never knowing what a treasure he had thrown away with both hands.**_

"Who the hell are you??" I demanded.

**_I'm Van Hohenheim of Light.**_

_ "GRANDFATHER???"_

…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	7. Chapter 7

Paint the Sky with Stars, Chapter 7

By The Binary Alchemist

"_Who the hell are you??" I demanded._

_**I'm Van Hohenheim of Light.**_

"_GRANDFATHER???" Okay, I was REALLY confused. __"Hang on--you were there for the Fall of Xerxes. Soshi was born after that. So how in the hell could you have been my father? It's not like you could be two places at once, right?"  
He smiled a little and rubbed his glasses. "Oh...i__s that so__?"_

Well…THAT was a mind-fucker. "I think you'd better clear up a few things," I told him.

There were a lot of subjects my dad had me research—subjects that Edo dismissed out of hand as bullcrap.

Astral projection wasn't one of them. Mind you, it's not easy. Took me years and years of practice to learn to leave and return to my body—and I still can't do it nine times out of ten-- and nearly thirty _years_ before I could 'transfer a portion of my soul'—and that was only once, and it was in Amestris aided by a Master alchemist. It was exhausting and left me wobbly for days after Daddy and I returned thru the Gatestone. If it hadn't been to prolong the life of a dying man I wouldn't have ever dared to try it . Daddy could do it effortlessly in Amestris. And so, it would seem, could Hohenheim of Light.

**_When I was rescued in the desert by some Xingian travelers I was brought to the village of Guang Xi_. _Your father sheltered me for three days. On the third evening your father admitted to me privately that he was ill and feared that he would not survive long enough to find good husbands for his five daughters. I offered to give him of my own strength and transferred a portion of my soul into him. It killed him, Trisha—and so I transferred an even larger portion of myself into him to animate his body—to keep him alive long enough to honor his final wish. When the Master of Fire came to the village and demonstrated his great intellect and skill it seemed a good idea to offer you as his companion. He would not be unkind to you and you would never go hungry. How long did your father remain alive after you went to live with your master?**_

The memories were beginning to cloud over in my mind, no matter how hard I grasped at them. "A year—that's right, he died before my marriage."

**_Long enough to secure good prospects for all you children. Once the matches had been made, I withdrew from his body and he died instantly. Your mother never knew. She was a fine woman and I remember her fondly. This body—the body of Slave 23—moved to a hermitage in the hills where I spent much of that time recovering from the horror of absorbing so many souls into my body. I think I saved that peasant's life so that I could keep my sanity—I could focus on his life instead of my own for a little while**_

So that was it. I wasn't thrown away as a burden. My 'natural' father had worried about keeping us alive and Hohenheim chose the best prospect he could for me.

Still—just telling me all this…"Is this what Daddy meant in his letter, about Edo having good news for me that would make me happy?"

The Colonel shook his head. _**No. That is something personal. We are going to block some of these memories—you will remember Xing but you won't remember being Trisha of Resembool. That might make things very difficult for you—it will interrupt the flow of your destiny. If you need to know, Alphonse will tell you.** _He smiled a little and added, **_There are a few things we need to show you that will be blocked from your waking awareness—but it will help you if you are absolutely determined to help Edward find me on the Earth.**_

Again, that god-awful feeling of being yanked backwards through a keyhole asshole first and twisted into a knot and stomped on…and a part of me was Somewhere Else…

_"Look, Mustang—if you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask."_

_ "It's more fun this way, Hughes. Now, let's see—this hand is going to cost you…mmmm…either fifty bucks or your boxer shorts."_

_ The tall fellow with the angular good looks and brilliant green eyes shucked off his skivvies and tossed them triumphantly over his shoulder, where they landed…_

_ …right on top of MY head. "Mayland Alexander HUGHES!" I yelped, throwing them back in his face. _

_ The young man I had addressed looked anything but contrite. "I thought you liked me naked?"_

_ I slipped off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. "Not at fuckin' two a.m. when I'm so damned tired I could pass out on my feet."_

_ The other young man, the one he called Mustang, tossed me a sly grin. "Care to ante up? Whoever gets completely naked first is the other's sexual slave for the weekend. He's still got his shirt and socks on, but he's on a losing streak. A few more hands and he'll be running down to the store for Redi-Whip and Hershey's syrup. I don't mind sharing the spoils of victory. As much as he runs his mouth I hardly think his tongue is going to get tired after I'm done with him."_

_ "Mmmm…much as I appreciate the thought, I'll pass. You boys have fun molesting each other."_

_ Hughes nodded to his companion. "If she's not interested getting my tongue in her twat, she's not tired, she's comatose. I'd say an intervention is called for, right?"_

_ Mustang nodded, and before I could protest, Hughes had picked me up bodily and carried me to the couch. He crouched down at my feet and yanked off my boots, fingers digging blissfully into my aching arches. _

_ "Here you go." Mustang was placing a cup of what smelled like Sleepytime tea in my hand. As I sipped it, he stepped behind the couch and started rubbing my shoulders and neck. I purred contentedly as my two friends kneaded the tension from my body. Mustang perched on the top of the couch and smiled down at me. "Any better?"_

_ "Lots. Thanks." _

_ His hand gently smoothed my hair back from my forehead. "Anytime. You know that."_

_ I reached out and squeezed his hand. "If I were a guy, I'd marry you, Taisa. Too bad I have tits."_

_ He chuckled softly. "And very lovely tits, I might add. You don't have any other brothers or cousins, do you? Alfons is damned good looking, but he's about as straight as a slide rule. And while your father is remarkably attractive your mother would take me apart with a circular saw if I asked him out."_

_ I burst out laughing. "You'd make one hell of a stepmother! Don't think you'd have any luck breaking up my parents, though. Those two will be together forever. And the only other relative I have…"_

_ I went silent. Then I smiled. "I'll have to introduce you to my uncle Edward sometime."_

_ Mustang took a swallow from my tea cup. "Uncle?" One dark eyebrow inched up a fraction. "Is he anything like your dad?"_

_ I shook my head. "Nah, he's a little guy. Smaller than me, and damn, has he got a short fuse. But he's the best."_

_ Hughes rested his chin on my knees. "The little shit with the big mouth, right? The one that's teaching you the family business?"_

_ "Yeah." I patted Mustang's knee affectionately. "He's coming down for spring break. I'll have to introduce you…"_

This time I slammed back into consciousness so hard it made me throw up. I crawled to the mouth of the cave and retched up pure bile and water, almost too weak to move. I lay, panting and sweating, on the bare rock as the world reeled overhead.

_**ENOUGH!** _ The voice was low, womanly and sounded like its owner was not inclined to take any amount of crap from any man. **_Hohenheim, leave her be. Roy…you too. I'll take care of this.**_

I couldn't roll over but whoever it was had come around to kneel on the rocks in front of my field of vision. The sunlight poured through her translucent body, making her glow like a church window. "Who are you?" I managed to croak.

I could almost feel the caress of her fingers on my cheek. Her long braids tumbled over her shoulders and I could see a red tattoo by her collarbone that looked really damned familiar. _**You've seen enough and been through enough, Trisha. Time to rest…time to forget…**_

"Wait!" I hauled myself up on my elbows and reached for her. "You can't just tell me all this shit and then wipe it out of my mind! What damn good is that?"

**_You'll know what you need to know when you need to know it. And you'll remember your loved ones when you meet them. Including me. Now, close your eyes.**_

The last thing I remember before that horrible migraine started was her smile, seconds before her fist smashed into my forehead…

(So…how the hell do I remember all this shit if I was made to forget it? Well…I was allowed to retain the memories of Xing. Daddy eventually told me about Resembool. As far as the rest of my memories---they say great trauma or shock can unlock the subconscious. It's truth. That's what Envy taught me a few months ago when I had my first—and so far only—battle with a homunculus. That's why I'm writing all this down for my private journal…just in case we meet again…in case I'm not quite so lucky next time…)

Anyway, Coorah Yindi had come up about an hour later, bringing food to break my fast—toasted grubs and yams, dried figs, a little damper bread and plenty of cold tea. She'd cleaned me up, fed me, dressed me and made me rest until nearly sunset when we made our way back to the foot of Uluru. While I was resting, there was a flash of emerald and black that darted through the cave mouth and came to rest on my hand. It was stunning—the biggest damn butterfly I've ever seen in my life. It must have been bigger than a handspan—nearly half a foot from wingtip to wingtip.

Coorah nodded when she saw it. "He's been close to the cave the whole time you were here, trying to get your attention. He's trying to teach you if you'd pay attention to him."

"Huh?"

"_Boroke_. He's a teacher to you. He's trying to tell you what you need to know." Now," she snatched up a fig and popped it into her mouth, "you tell me what the message is."

I paused mid bite. Butterflies? I mean, I read all those anthropology books Daddy marked for me. Native Americans had totems like the buffalo or the wolf or bears or whatever. "Does that mean my 'totem' is a bug?" It seemed damned ironic. Ed would laugh his ass off, and I wasn't all that convinced of the idea of so called spirit-helpers. "Hmmm…have to think about that. Could you pass the grubs, please?" I was pretty starving, but not so hungry that the irony of eating a damn grub while being told my totem is a butterfly was lost on me.

He had been waiting at the foot of Uluru the whole time. "Told you she would be fine," Coorah called out as she carefully guided me down from my cave.

Edo looked so weary. He wasn't altogether recovered from his illness but damn it he was worried about me and was not about to leave me up on the Rock to die, Coorah's experience notwithstanding.

I _reeked_. My hair was all matted, and while I was clothed I was still smeared with clay and so wild and hollow-eyed in appearance that he was downright alarmed. "Hey…Kiddo…? Are you…?" And then we grabbed each other and hugged fiercely for a long time, Coorah grinning at our reunion. "Are you _really_ okay?" he whispered urgently.

I nodded. "Did I pass the test?"

Edo laid his hands on my shoulders and studied me for several moments. "You've already told me what 'all is one—one is all' meant. That's the test of an alchemist, by tradition. _This_—" he gestured towards Uluru, "—was a test of what you're made of, to see if you'll be strong enough to train, that you won't crap out when things get tough or dangerous."

"Yeah? And?" I demanded. I wanted to hear the words. I didn't want to think that I went through all that pain and fear and four nights of strange dreams I couldn't clearly remember for nothing .

He grinned hugely. "Go to the head of the class, Kiddo. _Suma cum Laude._"

Three days later I was soaking in a mineral hot tub at the Endota Day Spa over at the Mantra Pandana, a five star resort in Darwin. We were taking a few days off to rest and recover before flying back to San Francisco to spend the holidays with my folks. This was Ed's treat. He felt that after a month in the bush eating grubs and putting up with his bitching and the flies and the heat and the sweat and the pure hell of my Walk that I deserved some serious pampering. "Besides," he smirked, "you look like hell. You come home looking this bad and your mom is gonna come after me with a Makita cordless drill."

Yes, the massages felt heavenly, and they had managed to get my hair smoothed out and soft again. Even my ragged cuticles looked presentable after a manicure, although I didn't want polish on my nails any more than I wanted them to cover up my sunburns with makeup. I looked rough because, goddamn it, I had _earned_ it, and somehow I wasn't quite ready to have it all soothed away with expensive facials or nourishing creams.

In fact—to tell you the truth—I didn't have much use for our digs or the trappings and whatnot at the resort. Yeah, clean sheets were great—and you have no idea how greatly you will value a flush toilet until you've taken a shit in a bush dunny. But it was full of elegant, brittle people, getting upset over the most idiotic things. Edo slept a lot and told me to go out and have some fun, do some shopping or whatever, handed me a credit card and told me he'd see me in the evenings.

The only shopping I did was to replace some clothing that was now too large for me and then I spent the days visiting museums and parks or just roaming the streets of one of the most laid-back and friendliest cities on earth.

At night we'd head out to Mindil Beach to watch the sunset and explore the night markets while chowing down on some of the best Asian food I've ever eaten, often cooked over small charcoal braziers out in the open.

The night before we left Edo told me to grab a spot while he dashed up the beach and came back with a bucket of curried crabs and prawns, naan bread and, to my surprise, a couple of cold 'tubes' of Foster's, even though I was not yet eighteen. "Ah, your mom was shooting tequila in junior high, I bet," he reassured me. "Besides, it does help with fluid replacement."

So we cracked claws and got mildly buzzed and licked our fingers in companionable silence. Finally he took a long pull of his brew, belched loudly and informed me that I was now on the board of the Elric Foundation…and a young woman of considerable means. "That's why I'm glad to see you don't have any patience with those piss-elegant asswipes back at the hotel. That means you're not likely to BE one of 'em once you come into your inheritance."

I was so shocked I nearly choked to death on a prawn tail. _"What the fuck??"_ I spluttered. "What inheritance?"

Uncle Edward yawned, scratched his flesh knee and sprawled out on the blanket, one hand dangling lazily over his face to keep the setting sun out of his eyes. "Let's just say that after the war your Dad and I found our niche with a bunch of ex-patriot German and Austrian refugee scientists. Guys like Von Braun. Back in 1945, a little event called Operation Paperclip. We were brought in to Fort Strong in New York. We'd worked with British Intelligence before that—you know we left Germany with the Roma and met your uncle Fritz Lang in Paris, right? After that we hooked up with Churchill in London, 'cause he'd gotten Dad to spy on the Nazis. Only he never lived long enough to tell them about Hesse and Oberth and the Shamballa project.

"There were a handful who knew who and what we were. Some folks wanted to exploit us. Some wanted to get their hands on that goddamned uranium bomb of Huskisson's that passed thru the Gate to Earth. Al and I wanted to continue in rocketry, but we weren't interested in making weapons. We were more interested in space exploration."

I nodded. That's how my brother Alfons had gotten in at NASA. He'd gotten the space bug from birth and his job at Mission Control as a flight engineer was his all consuming passion.

"Anyway—your dad and I got out of the military's clutches and became independent contractors. It's been…it pays damn good, Kiddo. And we handled our investments right. Your sister and brother are well set up for life. But since you're going into the family business, your cut of the pie is gonna be a lot bigger. In fact," he pulled a letter out of his pocket and passed it to me, "your dad sent me this list last week. These are all the colleges that accepted your application. What I'm saying is that even if I weren't gonna pay your way through school you'd have enough to pick any college on this list and go without worrying about tuition or expenses. Got it?"

Damn. _Damn_.

I scanned the list and poked at the name of the school I had wanted to attend ever since I'd decided to study journalism. _The University of California at Berkeley_. "I'll send them my acceptance letter soon as we get home."

What I didn't know is that the same Thanksgiving weekend two other letters would be dropped in the mail with the same destination.

One was sent by the scion of a family of well-heeled celebrity lawyers. Mayland Alexander Hughes III was very smart. He was also a smartass. He caught a lot of shit for being a rich kid who was absolutely convinced that the 'system' sucked, that the game was rigged and that there was a vast 'military-industrial-complex' conspiracy to rob the common man of his inalienable rights of Life, Liberty…and most importantly, The Pursuit of A Really Good Time. One of his best friends got shot by a cop when a pot deal went bad, and Mays, who had never so much as touched a joint to his lips became a rabid supporter of marijuana decriminalization. The best place to nurture such a rebellious spirit, his parents reasoned was Berkeley. His older brother Robert put it this way: "One of these days that snot-nosed bastard is going to get his ass thrown _under_ the jail. Berkeley's just the best place to make it happen sooner."

The other acceptance letter was postmarked LONDON. It came accompanied by several glowing letters of recommendation, and a string of A-Levels that would make him prime candidate for scholarships at any British university. The student, a Eurasian native of Kokura, Japan, had decided to choose an American university instead. He'd had it with the English school system and his half-_gajin_ status had sometimes made things awkward in his homeland. Berkeley had an outstanding College of Chemistry and the scholarship package had appealed to his mother, herself a pediatric nurse at the Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital.

Besides…there was a sexual revolution going on in California, and not all of it was for the benefits of heterosexuals alone. "Gay Liberation" was alive and well and flaunting itself on the west coast. His one schoolboy romance had led to a caning in public school back in London; his would-be lover was hastily shipped back home to his grandparents in India. His mother wasn't altogether pleased but she admitted that she would grow to love whomever her son chose as a life partner. And since the odds of finding someone might be better in the center of the revolution, a move to Berkeley seemed to be the best of all options and he signed his acceptance letter with a typical flourish:

"_Taisa Roy Mustang"_

…TO BE CONTINUED…..


End file.
